


hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes

by areyoumarriedriver



Series: Gentleman Practice [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/pseuds/areyoumarriedriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I left out the honour and obey parts on purpose you know. I may be an old fool in love, but even I’m not delusional enough to believe we’d ever do as we’re told.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes

**_hoping their grace will get stuck in my shoes_**  
  
Breaking in is so much easier than breaking out, he reasons.  
  
And for once he knows that he will not end up at the wrong time or place, he knows this trip barely needs any guidance from him at all – it is his TARDIS embracing her child. And the old girl always knew where he needed to be. He doesn’t want to face the image of her in prison, behind those bars (even though he’s seen it before and will again, but right now that is a serrated blade of a thought turned sharply in his chest) so he materialises around River.  
  
The TARDIS. Wrapping herself around his wife and folding her into their space.  
  
She is curled up on the floor by the doors, her face buried in her knees and he sends them into the Vortex once more before he makes his way down to her. She looks up as he approaches, fear and longing etched across her face. “You have to take me back!” She pushes herself up, scrambling to her feet as she glares at him. “Doctor, you have to take me back!”  
  
Her hair is wild about her face and he smiles, a crooked grin that confuses her, and his smile only widens as he watches that confusion spread across her face. “I don’t  _have_  to do anything, River Song.” He responds with a grin and she takes a deep breath, breathing it slowly out through her nose in order maintain her calm. “I left out the honour and obey parts on purpose you know.  I may be an old fool in love, but even I’m not delusional enough to believe we’d ever do as we’re told.”  
  
She is staring at him with an incredulous expression and she puts a hand on her hip as her stare morphs into a glare before his very eyes.  “If I’m not in that cell – what’s the  _point_  of having done it all, Doctor? If you just plan on popping in and out at your whim, why bother putting up the ruse at all?”  
  
“Oh they’ll never know.” He dismisses her worries easily, with a wave of his hand. “Or they’ll assume it’s a younger me – time-traveller, you know, River.” He lifts his brows as he looks down at her, but her expression hasn’t eased and if anything, she looks angrier than she was a moment ago.  
  
“So what?” She scoffs, looking singularly unimpressed with him. “You just pop by when you have the time and take me out for a run like the dog? Would seem a bit cruel to leave me all caged in like that, would it?” Her eyes are the brightest green he’s ever seen them – not even when he showed up in that diner after she’d watched him die. Again. He steps back, because an angry River usually means slaps – mean ones at that. “I don’t want it, take me back.” She crosses her arms and he half-waits a moment to see if she’s going to stamp her foot as well. She is so very young, but he refrains from mentioning it – knowing she would definitely slap him in that case.  
  
“Are you quite finished?” He asks after a moment and she gapes at him, her jaw dropping as her gaze narrows. “I’ve no intention of taking you back. Not tonight.”  
  
“What’s so special about tonight?” Irritation laces the question, and her eyes all but shoot sparks at him. His hearts speed up at the sight of her, hair wild, eyes flashing, cheeks flushed – she is particularly gorgeous, especially when she’s angry.  
  
He steps in closer again, until there is almost no space between his body and hers, her crossed arms brush against his chest when she takes a deep breath. “It’s our wedding night, River. You can’t be mad at me on our wedding night. That’s no proper way to start off a marriage.”  
  
“It’s  _not_  our wedding night.” She sighs in exasperation and she throws her arms up as she speaks.  
  
“Well obviously I had to wait for you to be transferred to Stormcage, so technically no - I suppose for you some time has passed-”  
  
“It hasn’t for you?” She demands, cutting him off and he ignores her question with a slight smile, continuing on with his previous thought.  
  
“-but  _technically_  we got married at a point in time when everything was happening all at once, so I guess that would make  _every_  night our wedding night. Well. That could get interesting. Makes anniversaries a bit difficult to plan though eh? Oh well – we’ll just pick a date for those.” He waves that thought off and she swallows, looking up at him with an expression that is wavering between fascination and frustration. He’s rather hoping she decides to land on the former.  
  
“It’s still not our wedding night.” She points out in an even tone, the type of tone recognised by husbands all across the universe as a signal to run. As far and as fast as you can. But he’s always been rubbish at weddings, especially his own, and the same holds true for marriages. He might actually be worse at those, actually. She steps back, striding over to the stairs and up to the console, attempting to punch in coordinates. The TARDIS doesn’t respond, bless his old girl, and he follows after River quickly.  
  
“What? Why not?” He demands – she’d promised him a wedding night.  “You promised! Well not you you. Not this you, but you have told me. Tonight. Or I guess according to you you  _will_  tell me and that’s a spoiler – so ignore that.” He is chasing her around the console as she attempts different buttons and levers, all of which are unresponsive. She groans in frustration, stepping back and balling her hands into fists as she glares up at the silent time rotor.  Finally she stops, turning to him with frustration written all over her face.  
  
“Because you daft man, we are  _not_  married.”  She shouts the words at him and he slides to a halt abruptly, looking at her in complete shock.  
  
“No, no, no – I got the time right this time. I mean I’m usually late. Or early, depending on who you’re asking, but this time I made sure, _this_  was important and – ah-ha!” He jumps and shakes a finger in her face in triumph. “You’re in Stormcage so it  _has_  to be after we’re married.” He finishes with a smug smile and she rolls her eyes, her hip cocking to the left as she raises an unimpressed brow in his direction.  
  
“Doctor,  _stop_  it. It was a bowtie and a consolation prize for me spending the rest of my days in prison. It wasn’t even  _you_. Don’t humour me by romanticizing it.” Her tone is bitter and he stares at her, aghast. He hadn’t been expecting this. Not  _this_  – and oh when he went back to that planet and his River, he was going to – well, honestly he was probably going to kiss her senseless for a few hours, among other things, but eventually there would be yelling. Lots and lots of it. Infuriating woman. He snaps his attention back to the River at hand. The very young, very hurt, very vulnerable looking River standing in front of him.  
  
“Am I romanticizing it, River? I’m not doing it for  _your_  benefit if I am; I rather thought it was for my own. But maybe I really  _am_  just a daft old man.” He cannot keep the slightest tinge of hurt out of his tone and her face softens as she looks up at him warily.  
  
“You didn’t even ask me, Doctor.”  
  
“I did! Well, no, I didn’t but I did – you just don’t know it yet. And technically I suppose I hadn’t  _meant_ to ask then either, but try telling _you_  that. So, for the record, it wasn’t as if I walked up to the top of that pyramid and snatched you up and married you against your will.  Even though I suppose, in retrospect it  _could_  be interpreted – you know what?  _Fine_. Fine.”  He moves over to the console, reaching up for the monitor and swinging it along with him. He begins inputting coordinates and she watches him warily, her eyes wide and filled with fear.  
  
“What are you doing?” She demands, moving over by his shoulder and attempting to read the screen but he flicks the switch off and pulls the lever, sending the time rotor into motion again. “Are you – are you taking me back?” She’s attempting to sound like she doesn’t care, and he laughs, because she just doesn’t  _know_  him yet. Not properly. Oh she’s heard fairytales and heard tales of terror, and she’s watched him swagger his way through death itself, but she doesn’t  _know_.  
  
“Taking you back?!” He scoffs. “No. What on earth would I do that for? I told you – no going back. Not tonight.”  
  
“Then what are you doing?” Her question is soft, hesitant, almost as if she hates herself for asking it in the first place. He turns to her with a smile.  
  
“Well apparently all of time at once on the top of a pyramid in Cairo didn’t count. Guess I wore the wrong suit.” He reflects with a wry smile and her eyes widen as she stares up at him, speechless. “Only one thing to do then, River Song.”  
  
“What’s that?” She whispers, and he laughs, clapping his hands and twirling about on the spot. He bows before her and straightens, holding out his arm.  
  
“I believe you asked me out for dinner? That part  _does_  still count, right?” She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head lightly. “Oh,” his voice is crestfallen and he pouts, “it didn’t?”  
  
“No! I mean  _yes_ , I mean –” She stumbles over her words and gazes helplessly up at him. “I mean it  _did_  count, but I can’t – not in this.” She waves her hands over her body and he glances down, inspecting her tank top and pants.  
  
“For the record, I think you look lovely in most anything, but  _if_  you’d like to change, the TARDIS wardrobe will provide you with whatever you need.” He should have known better really, should have approached this whole thing gently – like she was a timid animal, ready to bolt. She needs to be coaxed – no, deserves to be wooed. He gives her a gentle push in the direction of the wardrobe and she stumbles away, glancing over her shoulder nervously as she walks. He can still see a shadow of regret lining her eyes, but he’ll soon fix that. He came for a wedding night, and he’d give her one, even if it took him months to convince her. He rather hopes it won’t though; he’s looking forward to the night part of the wedding night, although the wooing should be fun too. “Wooing.” He whispers the word to himself as he moves around the console, waiting for her. “That’s a  _great_  word.” The TARDIS hums in agreement, and he grins up at the rotor.  
  
He needs, he needs –  not a ring because he doubts that would work on a woman as contrary as River Song – but he needs something. The TARDIS whirs happily and the console slides open, a bowtie appearing as if by magic. He picks it up, stroking the length of the silky material, patterned in an intricate black and white weave that made it appear grey from afar. It is, of course, the same one. His TARDIS would do no less, and he knows it. He hears her in the hall, and hastily shoves the bowtie in his pocket, leaning in to the console before River enters the room. “Thanks, dear.” He whispers to his ship, who hums in response and he looks up just as River re-enters the room.  
  
She looks stunning. Of course, that goes without saying, but she is in a long dress that is a smoky grey shade, it has only one strap, crossing over her left shoulder and she is holding a pair of red heels in her hands as she frowns at him. “Does your ship have some sort of kink, sweetie? There were hundreds of dresses in there, but these were the only shoes I could find.” She pauses before him, looking up at him with an arched brow. “Or do  _you_  have a kink? Oh God, whose shoes  _are_  these?!” He grins at her question, because of course, they are her shoes. Shoes that she’d left dangling from the cross bar of his TARDIS screen, a bright red calling card that he’d kept in a fit of fondness after watching her leave in a cloud of dust on that beach. His River. Hell in high heels and of course those high heels would be in themselves, a paradox.  
  
“Paradox shoes.” He speaks out loud and laughs, and she shakes her head in confusion.  
  
“But I can wear them right? They don’t do anything  _weird_ , do they?”  
  
“No! Nothing weird, I promise.” He watches for a moment as she slips them on, bracing one hand on the console and leaning over to step into them. When she finishes, he can see the deep red peeping out from beneath the hem of her gown and he finds himself wondering what she would look like with  _just_  the shoes – “Well, nothing weird to  _you_  at any rate.” He clears his throat and flushes as she eyes him with a smirk.  
  
“Is that what you’re wearing?” She demands and he looks down at his customary tweed. He has his green coat too, of course, but his shirt is grey and his bowtie is red today, and that would just look terrible.  
  
“Of  _course_. I look cool!” He insists, and she glances over him before sighing.  
  
“You only dress up for dying I suppose?” She mutters as she tucks her hand through his elbow and he laughs as they walk to the doors.  
  
“Well, weddings too.” He points out, and she glares up at him suspiciously. “What? I do! Ask your mother! I was at their wedding you know. Well so were- ah, nevermind, not important. The important things is  _this_.” He flings the doors open and they step out into a velvety night. It is warm, and the stars saturate the sky – millions upon millions of them, glittering against the dark. She gasps, looking above as he guides her off the dewy grass and onto the pathway beyond.  
  
“Where are we?” She asks in wonder and he smiles fondly in her direction.  
  
“Alfava Metraxis. Seventh planet in the Dundra system. Early fiftieth century, I believe, used to be home to an indigenous species, the Aplans, but they died out. Human colony now.” He walks her along the path, through the garden and toward the terrace of the building he’d landed behind. “I  _love_  this planet. Great memories. Well, not great, I mean I was a bit afraid I’d die at the time, but it all worked out in the end. Anyway, all safe now.” He pauses, wondering about the army of weeping angels somewhere on this planet, infesting its catacombs. “Well, safe  _enough_  anyway.” She looks at him in confusion and he shrugs. “Anyway, point is this is the garden of the best restaurant in the entire capitol colony. So shall we, Dr. Song?”  
  
They are shown to a table that is tucked away on a private corner of the terrace, after he pulls out his psychic paper of course, and it isn’t long until they are settled in surrounded by stars and drinking wine (well he has grape juice, she has wine. Some things he only needs to try twice.) awaiting their meal. “Not a bad first date.” She admits softly and he scoffs.  
  
“Second date.” He corrects and she laughs softly.  
  
“It’s not fair to count dates I’ve not been on yet, Doctor. Rude.”  
  
“What? No you were there. Dancing and flirting – two kisses, and sure one killed me but it could be my favourite way to die so far.” He teases her gently and she goes white before colouring, looking down at the table and fiddling with her cutlery.  
  
“That wasn’t a date.” She speaks in a low tone, and he studies her for a moment before standing and pulling his chair around the table until it was next to hers. He sits once more, pulling her hands from the table and wrapping his own around them.  
  
“Semantics. I thought it was an amazing first date.” He speaks next to her ear, leaning in until his lips brush against her ear. He watches a shiver crawl through her and feels inordinately pleased with himself as she leans into him, just a touch.  
  
“It was one of the worst days of my life, Doctor, please don’t.” Her voice is a whisper and he pulls back, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. The waiter comes with their food, unobtrusively setting it on the table and disappearing before he was even noticed.  
  
“Don’t think of it like that, please River. Don’t think of it as they day you killed me. Think of it as the day you  _saved_  me. And not just my life, you saved  _me_ , River. I got to watch you regenerate – and oh, it was glorious. You were  _glorious_.  You’re like me, and I’ve been so alone for so long, oh River...” He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and watching in delight as she blushes. “I loved you, even then. _Especially_  then.”  
  
She turns to look at him then, her eyes meeting his. Her face is so close to his he can feel her breath against his cheek, he can see the shadows under her haunted eyes, every line on her face and she is beautiful, so achingly beautiful that his breath catches. “How can you say that?”  
  
“Because it’s true.” He answers simply, shrugging. “I was half in love with you before I even knew who you were, River.  Maybe even from the moment I met you. You and I – we’re tailored for each other. My bespoke psychopath, but if you’re mine, I’m yours. And I always will be.”  
  
“Always?” Her voice is disbelieving but he leans in closer to look her in the eye.  
  
“For the rest of our lives, River. Starting now.” She swallows and leans into him, her shoulder brushing against his. She moves slowly, as if giving him every chance to back away and he wants to laugh at the notion, but closes the distance between them instead, covering her mouth with his.  
  
Kissing River is always the same, but different. No matter when they are, he feels the same thrill, the same buzzing under his skin, the same racing of his hearts. But she isn’t as confident and he leads this time, which is new. Her mouth opens easily under his and his tongue slides along hers as his hands creep up into her hair, burying themselves there. When he pulls away, their breathing is uneven and he leans his forehead against her temple, his fingers still ensnared in her curls. “Marry me, River. Marry me here, marry me on earth, marry me on satellites and moons and space stations.  Anywhere you like.  _Everywhere_  if you want. But please, please trust that I love you, please marry me?”  
  
His hearts are thundering in his chest and he thinks he might actually feel nervous, which was a ridiculous notion. This woman had ripped apart reality for love of him, surely she would live in that reality with him? His wife. “Doctor, you don’t have to-” His hands tighten in her hair and she stops speaking as he pulls back and looks at her.  
  
“I  _want_  to River. I want to – honestly you are my wife. Right now. This very second, as far as I’m concerned – you’re my wife. But if I have to marry you all over the galaxy, in every ritual possible, on every world that’s ever existed or ever  _will_  exist, then I will. I will do it _gladly_.  Just – just tell me yes. Tell me yes and we’ll go right now. We’ll get married wherever you want, I don’t care. Just let me call you my wife. Because in my hearts, you already are.” She is looking at him, tears in her eyes and he can feel her trembling against him. His hands are shaking too and she nods, breaking into a tremulous smile.  
  
“Okay.” She nods once more and he grins triumphantly. “Okay. Right now. Here. This planet, I don’t care where.”  
  
They don’t even touch their meals, instead they rise, hands clasped as he runs through the marriage requirements for this colony in his head. It takes some finagling and excess use of his psychic paper, but not an hour later they are standing before a judge in the garden, just outside of the TARDIS – the only witness they need, really.  
  
When the judge asks if they have rings, the Doctor fumbles, pulling out his bowtie, and explaining that they want a hand-fasting ritual. The judge looks on askance – after all it’s not a usual request in the 49th century – but complies. Their vows are standard, because nothing could ever adequately cover the specifics of their relationship anyway, and once it’s over he pulls her toward him, kissing her before the judge even announces that he may do so.  
  
She doesn’t seem to mind. Her hand is still tied to his and her other hand grips his lapel tightly as she kisses him back. Last time they’d had a wedding kiss, time had started. This time it seems to have stopped, because neither of them are aware of anything but each other. The judge clears his throat, and hands them a wedding certificate – asking them to sign. John Smith and River Song, and he makes the mistake of congratulating Dr. and Mrs. Smith, but River corrects him archly – Dr. And Dr.  _Song_.  
  
“It doesn’t work like that!” He exclaims, and she laughs, pulling him in for another kiss instead of arguing the point. It’s a fair argument, he decides, his hands in her hair as she pushes him against the TARDIS doors. The judge simply rolls his eyes, muttering about ‘ _young kids in love_ ’ and leaves them alone with the night sky above them and their faithful ship at their side.  
  
They stumble inside, and he unwinds the bowtie from their hands, wrapping it around the strap of her dress several times and re-tying it with a grin. “Is it alright if we don’t have rings? You can keep this with you, River. I mean I’ll get rings if you want, but really, I thought you might be allowed to keep this with you in your-” She cuts off his babbling with her lips, and his hands drop to her waist, pulling her into him as they waltz backwards through the console room.  
  
She is breathless when she pulls back, her smile wide and warm. “I love you. It’s perfect.” She declares, and he smiles at her joyfully, his hearts bursting with happiness. It is perfect – she is perfect,  _they_  are perfect.  
  
“I love you too. And now Wife, I have a request.” She smiles fondly up at him, her hand brushing against the bowtie at her shoulder before reaching for the one around his neck. She strokes it gently, with a grin in place.  
  
“Yes, my love?”  
  
“I believe I heard something about a wedding night?”


End file.
